Goodbye our Red Flag. You slipped down from the Kremlin roof not so proudly not so adroitly as you climbed many years ago on the destroyed Reichstag smoking like Hitler's last fag. Goodbye our Red Flag. You were our brother and our enemy. You were a soldier's comrade in trenches, you were the hope of all captive Europe, But like a Red curtain you concealed behind you the Gulag stuffed with frozen dead bodies. Why did you do it, our Red Flag? Goodbye our Red Flag. Lie down. Take a rest. We will remember all the victims deceived by your Red sweet murmur that lured millions like sheep to the slaughterhouse. But we will remember you because you too were no less deceived. Goodbye our Red Flag. Were you just a romantic rag? You are bloodied and with our blood we strip you from our souls. That's why we can't scratch out the tears from our red eyes, because you so widly slapped them with your heavy golden tassels. Goodbye our Red Flag. Our first step to freedom we stupidly took over your wounded silk, and ourselves, divided by envy and hatred. Hey crowd, do not trample again in the mud the already cracked glasses of Doctor Zhivago. Goodbye our Red Flag. Pry open the fist that imprisoned you trying to wave something red over Civil War, when scoundrels try to grab your standard again, or just desperate people, lining up for hope. Goodbye our Red Flag. You float into our dreams. Now you are just a narrow stripe in our Russian Tricoleur. In the innocent hands of whiteness, in the innocent hands of blue maybe even your red color can be washed free of blood. Goodbye our Red Flag. Be careful, our Tricoleur. Watch out for the card sharks of flags lest they twist you around their greasy finger. Could it be that you too, will have the same death sentence as your red brother, to be shot by our own bullets, devouring like lead moths your silk? Goodbye our Red Flag. In our naive childhood we played Red Army - White Army. We were born in a country that no longer exists. But in that Atlantis we were alive, we were loved. You, our Red Flag, lay in a puddle in a flea market. Some hustlers sell you for hard currency. Dollars, Francs, Yen. I didn't take the Tsar's Winter Palace. I didn't storm Hitler's Reichstag. I'm not what you call a "Commie." But I caress the Red Flag and cry.